What She'll Never Have
by Emador
Summary: When you run into an old friend on the Brooklyn Bridge, you always get more than you bargained for. [REPOST, originally published summer 2015]
_A/N: Hey everyone. I'm finally getting around to reposting all of my stories. I apologize if you constantly see my name near the top of the stories lists. ;)_

* * *

"I'm tellin' ya, that horse wins every time it's a cloudy day, and never when it's sunny," said Race.

Stella rolled her eyes. "Just like the last horse only won when it raced in the third on days that began with T?"

"That was legitimate too!" said Race. "I swear, give me any horse racing today and I will tell you if it will win based on the day, date, weather, and what the jockey had for breakfast."

Stella shook her head and laughed. "You're full of it."

Race chuckled, his cigar stuck between his teeth. "You're just lucky I'm such a generous individual. Lunch is on me." He slung his arm around her neck as they walked across the Brooklyn Bridge back into Manhattan.

"It better be, since you borrowed the money from me to place your bets," she laughed. "Mr. Jacobi will be shocked you're actually paying this time."

Neither of them were paying attention to the people passing them, that they didn't see the couple until they were nearly toe to toe.

"Stella." The familiar voice made her stop in her tracks. He said it the same way he always had - same tone, same inflection. That voice took her back to the docks of Brooklyn. Summer days at Coney Island. Naps in Prospect Park. Afternoon swims in the East River. Poker games every Thursday night.

"Spot," Stella said through a dry mouth.

He the same, but so different than the last time she saw him. A bowler replaced his newsie cap. His dirty undershirt and trousers were replaced by a three-piece suit.

"It's good to see you," he said.

"You too. It's been a while."

Spot nodded, giving her that little grin that always gave her a warm feeling all over.

A woman cleared her throat. Stella looked over and noticed for the first time, the woman on Spot's arm. She was dressed in an outfit that Stella would've had to work for six months to afford.

"Um, Daisy, this is Stella," said Spot. "She's...an old friend."

Stella felt her stomach turn at his introduction of her as "an old friend." She was so much more than just an old friend. She was his first steady girl. He was her first kiss. She was the one who kept him fed during the strike. He was the one who kept her hidden from the reformers.

Old friend. As if the 7 years they spent growing up, and the 3 years they were a couple was just a passing glance.

"Oh," Daisy grinned pleasantly, extending her gloved hand. Stella knew this was the first Daisy was hearing of her. "Pleasure."

Stella nodded and shook Daisy's hand, resisting the temptation to spit in her own palm first. "Sure."

"And this is Race," Spot gestured at Race.

"Heya." Race winked and spit in his hand. Stella bit her lip to stop herself from grinning. She made a mental note to thank Race later.

Daisy hesitated when she saw Race spit. She just waved. "Nice to meet you."

"It's been a while," Stella said. The last time she saw Spot was almost on the very spot they were standing. It hurt her more than anything to say goodbye to him then. She'd been thankful for the rain to hide her tears. Even then, years later, she'd sworn the rain had hidden his tears as well.

Spot nodded. "It has."

Stella and Spot locked eyes for a few beats, both of them remembering.

"We really ought to get going," said Daisy. "My father will be waiting for us and we still need to pick up the marriage license."

"Marriage license?" Race asked.

Stella kept her eyes on Spot's.

"Yes," Daisy beamed. "We are getting married next week. So our wedding day will be the fourth day of the fifth month of the sixth year of the new century!"

Stella felt like she was going to be sick, but she smiled through it. "Congratulations." She swallowed. "We gotta get goin' too. The boys will be waitin' for us as Jacobi's."

Spot nodded at them and Stella prayed he got the message.

"Nice to see you both," said Spot, and he and Daisy walked on.

Stella remained rooted to her spot as Race watched the couple walk away.

"You okay?" He looked at Stella.

The tears were already streaming down her face. "No."

* * *

Stella sat at Jacobi's, folding and unfolding a napkin. She wondered if Spot really got the message. Even if he did, she wondered if he'd even come.

Race, being the ever sensitive and supportive friend that he was, told all the boys about the encounter the second they got to Jacobi's and began to take bets on when/if Spot would show up.

That was hours ago. Customers had come and gone. The boys had left, come back for dinner, and left again. Except Race. Stella knew he was in the corner booth playing solitaire. He would stay there until she left. She could almost forgive him for opening his big mouth to the boys earlier.

The sun had long gone down and Mr. Jacobi was beginning to put the chairs up on the tables and sweep the floor.

Stella hated herself for waiting for so long. The first hour she waited, she tried to think of what she would say to Spot when he got there. All the questions she had.

The second hour, she thought about them growing up. The tenement their family shared. How she would always crawl into Spot's bed during thunderstorms. How he would always protect her from the bullies on the playground at school. How he would hold her when they hid in the closet together when his father went on one of his drunken rages.

The third hour, she thought about how even after they ran away, he always looked after her. How he stood up to the Brooklyn leader without knowing it. How once they accepted him as one of their own, he wouldn't go with them unless there was a place for her. How he always made sure she was fed and clothed.

The fourth hour was the most bittersweet of all. They began to grow up. They began to notice each other as more than friends. Spot stopped chasing skirts and she became his one and only. Those last few years with him were the best of her life. They loved each other fiercely and protected each other at all costs. They were each other's firsts for almost everything.

She spent the fifth hour fantasizing about him breaking off his engagement. That when he saw her on the bridge, he realized she was the only one for him. That Daisy would never make him feel the way she made him feel.

The bell over the door interrupted her thoughts and she looked up. There he was. She felt a lump in her throat.

"I was beginning to think you weren't going to show," she said.

"Of course I was going to come," he said, sitting down across from her.

They sat in silence for a few moments.

"So how've you been?" he asked at the same time she said, "She seems nice."

"You don't have to do that," said Spot.

"Good." Stella didn't want to praise his choice of fiancée. She didn't want to know how they met. She didn't want to know what job her father had given Spot. She didn't want to know when or how or why Spot proposed to her. She only wanted to know two things.

"Are you happy?" she asked.

Spot looked at her for a time before nodding slowly. "Yeah. I am."

"Good." Stella nodded. "That's all the matters."

She was about to swallow her last question. But at the same time, she knew it would haunt her if she didn't know why.

"Why didn't she know who I was?" Her voice cracked. Dammit. She didn't want Spot to know how much the encounter on the bridge affected her. He always worried too much when it came to Stella.

Spot sighed. "She wouldn't understand. People in high society like her...those folks don't do the things we did. For as long as we did. She'd ask why I didn't marry you. She'd ask why we parted ways." He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. "Honestly, it would've just been too painful. Remembering all that. Knowing you and I could never..."

Stella nodded.

Spot looked down. "Part of me will always love you, Stella."

"Don't do this," she whispered, looking down.

"I have to." He reached across the table and took her hand. "What if I never get another chance to say it?" Stella refused to blink, knowing the tears would fall. "You helped make me who I am today. I will never forget that."

Stella didn't say anything.

Spot sighed and squeezed her hand before standing up once more. He reached into his pocket.

"Spot, don't."

"Stella…"

"Please." She closed her eyes and looked away as he set the small pile of folded bills in front of her.

"I can't walk away without knowing you're taken care of."

"You did the last time."

He turned around and walked away. Just before he was about to walk out the door, Stella said, "I love you too, Spot."

Spot hesitated for a moment before he opened the door and walked out of her life forever.

She heard Race walk up behind her.

"I guess we can call it a draw," said Stella, standing up.

Race looked at her.

"We each got something the other will never have." Stella sighed. "She may have his future…but I got his past."

Race slung his arm around her neck, resting his temple against hers. "Come on. Medda's is still open. Let's get you a drink."


End file.
